


An Offer that Cannot be Ignored

by OftenWrongSoong



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Coming In Pants, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit, Crowley's trousers are too damn tight, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Frustration, Shameless Smut, Soft Dom Aziraphale, Temptation, merry christmas ya filthy animals, you got comedy in my smut, you got smut in my comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OftenWrongSoong/pseuds/OftenWrongSoong
Summary: Crowley is bored. In an attempt to attract Aziraphale's attention, he tries a bit of tempting.Because none of Crowley's plans have ever back-fired on him... right?Featuring comedy, tight trousers, pigeons, tea... and a demon who really ought to know better than to interrupt an angel when he's reading.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59
Collections: Grow Better / Scribbling Vaguely Downwards - Holiday Swap '20





	An Offer that Cannot be Ignored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnakesandTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakesandTea/gifts).



> I make no excuses for this. It is a shameless bit of filth. I hope my dear SnakesAndTea enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Title taken from... what else? 'Temptation' by Heaven 17

Crowley was bored.

There are few things in the known universe capable of causing more disruption and chaos than a bored demon, for the devil does, indeed, find work for idle hands. However, Crowley was not like most demons. For a start, he'd much rather curl up on the sofa and watch daytime television than engage in activities more typical for those of his ilk, such as finding some hapless soul and removing their skin, or setting fire to an orphanage. So, in that sense, it was probably better for the world at large that it was the demon Crowley who was bored, and not one of his former colleagues.

From Crowley's point of view, however, it was intolerable.

It was August, one full year after Crowley and Aziraphale had pulled off probably the most audacious thwarting ever known. It was miserably hot, and outside in the street the tarmac was slowly softening in the shimmering heat-haze. Crowley was distantly aware of traffic moving outside, the bumbling of humans in the shop, the gentle sounds of pages turning, and somewhere the soft ticking of a clock. It was quiet and peaceful, and any moment now he was going to shrivel up and expire from a critical overload of ennui.

All right, so things weren't as bad as they _might_ have been, had he and Aziraphale (and, to be fair, a couple of other people) failed to thwart Armageddon. Had the Apocalypse gone ahead as planned, he suspected he would have never had the opportunity to be bored ever again, mostly because he would be very, very dead.

But now, with all that nonsense behind them, and without their respective offices breathing (or, in the case of some of Crowley's more hideous co-workers, drooling) down their necks, they were free to carry on pretty much as they had done, albeit with an awful lot less paperwork, and an awful lot more sex.

That last part had come as a bit of a surprise to Crowley. He had hoped that, without the looming disapproval of his celestial superiors, Aziraphale might have plucked up the courage to hold his hand at some point in the next century or so. He was, therefore, totally unprepared when after their celebratory dinner at the Ritz, Aziraphale had asked him into the shop for a nightcap and, once the door was shut and locked, had unceremoniously pinned him to said door and done his level best to inhale his tongue. One thing led to another, as such things tend to, and the week or so following that had been a bit of a blur.

Crowley huffed through his nose and turned his head to regard the angel. From where the demon was sprawled haphazardly across the sofa, he was granted a charming profile view of Aziraphale, Principality, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, with whom he had struck up a conversation some six thousand years ago as they watched the first humans stumble out into the world.

This divine being, the wielder of the flaming sword and saviour of the world, had promised Crowley that they would go out for a late lunch, and then come back to the bookshop for rather a lot of wine, hopefully followed with a shag.

Instead, a mouldy old tome had been bought in by some bloody human, and Aziraphale had gotten all excited and misty-eyed. A wodge of cash had exchanged hands, and then one elegantly upturned angelic nose had been jammed into said book and Aziraphale had barely moved since, save for turning the pages.

Crowley sighed again, a little more dramatically, watching Aziraphale intently from behind his sunglasses. Nothing. Not that he was expecting a reaction. Ever since humans had started scratching symbols onto clay tablets, the angel had been captivated. And now he was lost, and would probably be content to sit there and gather dust until the building crumbled around him or he finished the book, the latter of which would hopefully happen first.

Crowley allowed his head to fall back to the armrest as he considered his options. He could leave, of course, go and do something else, something more interesting than lying on the sofa and listening to people turning pages. But that would mean getting up, and it was hot outside, and sloth was one of his favourite sins. Plus, it would mean leaving Aziraphale. So, nix that idea.

He could go and bother the angel, but that would almost certainly not have a good outcome. Aziraphale would not take kindly to being interrupted. Of course, Crowley mused, if it turned into a proper row then they could try that 'make-up sex' thing that humans go on about. But that would mean that first he'd have to make Aziraphale angry, or even _sad_... No, absolutely not.

He closed his eyes and wriggled deeper into the sofa. A nap then, until Aziraphale finally deigned to raise his eyes from the yellowing pages that were _apparently_ more important than 'Lunch With Crowley', which usually ranked pretty highly on the list of 'Things Aziraphale Likes to Do', a list that, much to Crowley's delight, now included him.

He breathed in through his nose and released the breath with a sigh, lacing his fingers together over his stomach, relaxing his body into the cushions. Blessed Heaven, but it was hot! The waxed jeans had been a mistake from the moment he put them on, but they'd looked so good that he'd decided to tough it out, and now he was fairly sure he'd have to peel them off with a paint scraper. That clock was getting louder, he'd swear it, and... was that a fly? Some high-pitched whining sound, right on the edge of hearing.

His eyes snapped open as a motorcycle roared past outside. Right, so napping was off then.

He looked over again to where Aziraphale was engrossed in whatever it was he was reading. Perhaps he could be... persuaded. Just a nudge, a little whisper of suggestion. Not an outright temptation, just a little encouragement to leave the books alone for a while and do something more entertaining.

Crowley blinked slowly and turned the options over in his mind. Gluttony might work, Aziraphale was an epicure at heart. He could wave his hand and send the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, and the angel would practically levitate out of his seat and come skipping over like one of the Bisto kids.

He watched as Aziraphale turned to the next page, the tip of the angel's tongue flicking out to moisten his lips as his eyes scanned from left to right. His nostrils flared just slightly as he inhaled, his soft hands gentle and reverent on the paper. He was thoroughly enraptured. It was going to take more than the promise of a cottage loaf to get a reaction from him.

Sloth was the opposite of what he wanted, anger the same. Greed would probably only work if he didn't already have what he wanted, which it was abundantly clear he did. Envy... only if someone came in with a better book, and that wasn't going to get Crowley anywhere. Pride? He wasn't sure if Aziraphale was even capable of it, the humble bugger.

That just left the one option. His specialty. A slow smile spread across the demon's face.

He hadn't let loose with a proper temptation since their 'retirement'. As soon as he thought about it his skin started to tingle with anticipation and he had to mentally rein himself in. Not a _real_ temptation, just a hint of it. Oh, but it would be so _easy._

He could see it already, in his mind's eye. Aziraphale's cheeks turning pink, his eyes darting to meet Crowley's. Perhaps he'd bat his eyelashes in that coy way he had, purse his lips and give him that little shy smile. And then he'd usher the would-be customers out, before saying something horribly unsexy like 'Oh my dear, I'm afraid I've suddenly come over all fruity', and it would be awful but so endearing, and then...

Crowley ran his tongue across his teeth, watching Aziraphale. Slowly, gently, the demon started to _tempt._

A temptation, when done properly, is a thing of subtle beauty. You can't brute force it, it needs finesse. The trick is to make the target believe that what they are feeling is inherent to them, not due to an outside influence. It has to feel natural, and real. He sighed it out on his breath, a sweetness, a warm pink softness of feeling, a hint of more to come. He wafted it over to the angel like a whisper in his ear.

Aziraphale didn't so much as twitch. Crowley's lip curled slightly. He was going to have to up his game.

Raising his arms above his head he stretched out languorously on the sofa, working the kinks out of his spine before relaxing back into the plush cushions with all the satisfaction of a cat in a pool of sunlight. He focused his attentions once again on Aziraphale, sitting prim and proper at his desk. Crowley zeroed in on him, his mind full of the press of lips to skin, fingers running over bodies, the soft brush of hair. He pressed his imaginings toward the angel, breathing them over him.

Somewhere amongst the shelves someone coughed.

Aziraphale turned the page.

Crowley snarled to himself. It was too fucking hot. He reached up to his throat and wrenched his scarf off, flung it onto the floor, and undid another button on his shirt. A year of making up for lost time had given him plenty of ammunition for this specific temptation, and by all that was unholy he was going to use it.

He had spent thousands of years just watching, watching the humans, watching the angel that shared this planet with him. He saw what the humans did, and he wondered, and imagined. Would _he_ like that? What does _he_ taste like? What noises would _he_ make? Now that he knew, he could feed that knowledge back to Aziraphale, a temptation expertly tailored just for him.

His mouth fell open slightly and his eyes fluttered shut behind his darkened glasses as his mind spun together fantasy and reality into a heady cocktail of lascivious imagery. Goose-flesh prickled across his skin, despite the heat of the day, as he felt his own body react viscerally to his own imaginings. He swallowed hard and reminded himself that this wasn't for him. It was _only_ for Aziraphale. He drew in a shuddering breath and sighed it out, a hot wash of want and need, a rush of suggestive potential, the remembered half-whispered cries of y _es, yes, please, more._

A muffled thump came from somewhere behind the shelves, followed by giggles. The shop bell clattered as someone dashed out. On the roof, a male pigeon bowed and fanned his tail at his cooing mate. In the alleyway next to the shop, a stray cat queen howled.

Aziraphale pushed his reading glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Crowley groaned softly to himself and folded his arms behind his head, arching his long body and twisting his hips, half hard in his unforgiving jeans. Hot, so fucking hot today. He wanted to take his shirt off, then his jeans, his boxers... no, this wasn't about him. He ground his teeth as he watched the oblivious angel turn another page, his pink lips slightly parted.

He choked back a groan and threaded his fingers into his hair, thinking of how Aziraphale had gripped him just the same last night, tangled together and sweating, hot bodies slick and sliding against each other. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the elegant and immobile profile, the soft lips that just a few hours ago had whispered such lascivious profanities into his ear that he had almost bitten through his own tongue in shocked arousal. He whined quietly in the back of his throat and canted his hips, fighting against and delighting in the restrictive clothing that squeezed around his growing arousal. If the angel were to glance over it would be blatantly obvious that, true to his demonic nature, he dressed to the left.

The lust flowed out of the demon like a pheremonal fog, drifting in sinuous eddies and gusts, wafting out of him like a mist of musk, desperate cries, and sweat. He wallowed in it, delighted and tormented in equal measure. From a shadowed corner of the shop a bookshelf rattled and an ornament hit the floor with a thump, the sound almost covered by a muffled moan. Outside a car skidded to a halt, narrowly missing an oblivious couple who had been crossing the road before deciding that their time was better spent kissing furiously. A pack of stray dogs tumbled past in a delighted jumble, not particularly caring the gender of their target, or which end they mounted, so caught up were they in their joy. The cat who had been howling was now screaming her love-song to the sky as tom-cats poured all over her. All over Soho doors were slamming shut, curtains were being drawn, the streets were emptying of all but the most ardent of exhibitionists. The rat population was going to increase exponentially.

Aziraphale frowned and brushed a speck of lint off the desk.

He couldn't take it, he was going to spontaneously combust. Crowley gazed unabashedly across at his angel, so close and yet so far away. He wanted, oh he _wanted_ , and his mouth fell open with a soft trembling cry as he watched Aziraphale lick his lips. The things that tongue had done to him would make a gigolo blush. The demon was trapped in a heated fever of his own salacious imaginings, helpless to do anything but twist his hips and pour his desire out over the city like a honeyed aphrodisiac. He tangled his fingers tighter in his hair, sweat beading and running down his face, his hips pressing up into nothing, eyes full of his angel, mind clouded with sizzling heat. He knew the taste of his cock, his come, he knew how it felt to be filled relentlessly again and again, how welcoming his lover's body was, how he could sink into it and satiate himself in ways he had never dreamed would be possible. He knew, and he _wanted._

_Come to me, touch me, taste me, take me, have me, want me, want me, **want me**..._

Outside, the car that had stopped was rocking on its suspension, the windows misted. The streets were empty. A fox screamed. The humid air was thick and heavy.

The door of the bookshop opened, the bell jingling merrily as a couple staggered out onto the pavement, locked together at their mouths, tugging at each other's clothes.

As the door swung shut, Aziraphale straightened his back.

_Me, me, me, come to me, touch me, take me..._

Aziraphale looked up, and then turned his head, not to look at Crowley, but to stare over his own shoulder at the rest of the shop. He seemed to be listening intently.

Crowley panted desperately, his back arching off the cushions, muscles quivering with tension. His cock felt hot enough to melt his belt buckle, crushed into his thigh and leaking into his jeans. He could feel the wetness slicking the denim, and he whimpered as he twitched helplessly, pressing his thighs together and rocking his pelvis to try to create some friction.

With a sigh, Aziraphale turned back and slumped down in his chair, plucking his reading glasses off and setting them on the desk. With a flick of his wrist he sent a jolt of angelic power cracking through the air. The sign on the door flipped around, the latch snapped across, and the blinds rattled down, plunging the interior of the shop into artificial twilight, lit only by the antique lamp on the desk.

Aziraphale leaned back in his chair, resting his head on the back and tugging a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket. With swift, decisive moves, he undid his button fly and tugged his trousers down his thighs, followed by his boxers. Crowley nearly choked on his own drool as Aziraphale's cock sprang up, hard and wet. The angel wasted no time in gripping himself, working his soft hand over his erection with determined strokes, head thrown back and jaw set. Crowley panted and whimpered, his body twitching and jerking like a fish on a line.

Aziraphale suddenly gave a breathy groan and lurched forwards, curling round himself with a shudder, his forehead almost touching the desk. Crowley felt the echo of his orgasm like feedback, a burst of euphoria that hung trembling in the heavy air for a moment. His own cock throbbed in sympathy, sending a spurt of precum down his thigh.

Crowley devoured the sight of Aziraphale's trembling form, his own breath hot and harsh in his throat, his body shaking with raw desire. Slowly the angel sat back up and crumpled the handkerchief in one hand before putting his clothing to rights. Crowley almost wept with frustration.

_Here, me, here, want me, touch me, take me, have me..._

Aziraphale sighed, and turned to look at him. His eyes were storm-cloud grey, his cheeks flushed.

"Congratulations," he said dryly, "you now have my complete attention."

"Nyeahhh..." Crowley tried to remember how to speak. It was surprisingly difficult, because he felt like his brain was about to evaporate. He attempted a smile. "Hiii."

Aziraphale pursed his lips in irritation and stood up slowly, his eyes raking over the trembling demon. His eyes seemed to snag on the distorted front of the demon's jeans before travelling back up the length of his body to lock eyes with him. Crowley strangled a moan and clenched his hands into fists in his hair. This was _not_ going to plan.

"What _exactly_ were you hoping to accomplish with this stunt?" Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at the squirming demon.

"Uh, uh, you..." Crowley choked as his mind turned again to the sight of Aziraphale pumping his own cock in his fist. "You, want-want, nyrgh..."

Aziraphale sighed heavily and closed the gap between them, stepping forward with measured tread, his face thunderous.

"If you were hoping to distract me from my reading, then well done, you accomplished that admirably. I have been _completely_ unable to read _anything_ for the last few minutes, because I've been trying to mitigate the _disastrous_ effects that your... lack of control has caused. Do you have _any idea_ how dangerous that was? People could have been _hurt_!"

"'Mmmmm sorryyy..." It was a whine, Crowley _knew_ it was a whine, and he couldn't help it. He finally managed to untangle one of his hands from his hair and reached for his belt, but Aziraphale, quick as a whip, slapped his hand away.

"Oh no-no-no, not after all the trouble you've caused."

"Nooo..." Crowley reached out for Aziraphale and received another swat to the wrist for his trouble. He collapsed back onto the sofa with a groan.

"Hands back where they were," Aziraphale snapped. Crowley was powerless but to obey, gripping his hair tight and gazing up at his angel.

"Are you angry with me?" He whispered. Aziraphale shook his head slowly.

"No, Crowley, I'm not angry," the angel bent over, leaning in close. "I'm disappointed."

Oh no. Oh _no._ Crowley gulped back a sob at the thought. _He_ had done that, he had _disappointed_ Aziraphale. It was almost more than his lust-addled brain could cope with. He whimpered pathetically, twisting on the couch, and Aziraphale stood straight to regard him through half-lidded eyes.

"Well then, seeing as I've been cleaning up your mess..." Aziraphale held up his hand, the white handkerchief balled in his fist, "you can clean up mine. Open."

“Wh-what?”

“Open your mouth.”

It didn't even occur to Crowley to disobey. His jaw dropped open, and Aziraphale face twitched into a brief smile.

“Good boy,” the angel murmured, and gently pushed the wadded up fabric between Crowley's trembling lips, pressing it in with two fingers.

Crowley gargled incoherently around the handkerchief, eyes wide. He pressed up with his tongue experimentally, and wetness seeped out into his mouth.

“Clean that up for me, there's a dear.” Aziraphale smiled gently and withdrew his fingers, watching the demon's face as slow dawning realization crept into his serpent eyes.

“Oh fuck...” was what Crowley had intended to say, but the only sound that escaped the come-soaked cloth was incoherent warbling. His eyes rolled madly as he closed his mouth as best he could and did as he was bidden, sucking greedily at the handkerchief as if it were drenched with the sweetest nectar. It was everything he wanted in that moment, the salt-sweet musky taste of his angel filling his mouth. He groaned around the cloth and pressed his hips up, his aching cock straining desperately.

“Ridiculous beast.” There was nothing but fondness in Aziraphale's voice. Crowley managed to pull his hazy gaze back to the angel, who was gazing down on him beatifically. The demon barely had a thought in his head beyond the _want, want, need, please, more_ , and all he could do was whimper and clutch at his hair and massage the last of Aziraphale's ejaculate out of the handkerchief with his tongue.

“Well now, that's enough I think.” Aziraphale leaned down to pluck Crowley's glasses off and set them aside, before moving his hand to cup Crowley's face, running one soft thumb over his sweating brow. With his other hand he reached down and pressed firmly on the demon's aching cock and Crowley almost shot out of the couch, his whole body arching into the touch.

“Go on, then,” Aziraphale murmured, “come for me, there's a good boy.”

Crowley shrieked around the cloth as Aziraphale squeezed him through his jeans, and his vision went white. His orgasm shot through him like a lightning bolt, his body jerking as jolts of exquisite pleasure ripped through him, his eyes rolling back into his head. Every muscle seemed to tense and relax in shuddering waves, his mind awash with the exhilarating rush of release.

Slowly he came back to himself, his trembling body gradually relaxing onto the sofa. Aziraphale was still stroking him, working him through his climax, smiling down at him. The angel took his other hand from Crowley's cheek to pull the handkerchief from his mouth, leaving the demon gasping like a landed fish.

“Now, if we're _quite_ done with this silliness,” Aziraphale pushed himself up and gave the handkerchief a shake, before tucking the (now clean, dry, and perfectly ironed) fabric back into his pocket, “I'm going to make us some tea. And _then_ we are going to have a _serious_ conversation about your lack of self control.”

With that Aziraphale puttered away to the back of the shop, leaving Crowley lying limp and shivering, gasping for air in shuddering gulps. He was vaguely aware of the rapidly cooling come that was doing its best to soak into his jeans, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

His brain still wasn't quite fully functioning by the time Aziraphale returned, carrying two mugs. He placed them on the table and went to his chair, swiveling it round to regard the demon with one pale eyebrow raised.

Crowley blearily realised that Aziraphale was waiting for him to do or say something, but it was hard to work out what when his head felt like it was stuffed with candyfloss.

“Thank you,” he tried. Aziraphale raised his other eyebrow.

“Sorry?” Crowley said hesitantly. Aziraphale pursed his lips and reached for his tea.

Crowley licked his lips and tried to think. “I'm very sorry? Very, very sorry?”

“You know, it might work a little better if I thought you meant it.”

“Bu-but I do!” Crowley struggled up onto his elbows, “I am sorry, really!”

“Are you sorry for causing so much trouble? Or are you sorry because your scheme backfired on you so spectacularly?”

Crowley opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut again. Aziraphale sipped his tea primly.

“All right,” Crowley muttered eventually, dragging his body into an approximation of a seated position. His jeans were stuck to his leg, and he grimaced and wished the mess away with a wave of his hand, “Yes, I'm sorry it went to shit. And I'm sorry you had to deal with it.”

“I mean, _really_ dear!” Aziraphale frowned at him. “Do you have _any idea_ how many condoms I just had to manifest into people's wallets and purses? Good _lord_...” he put down his mug to raise one hand to his forehead, “I'm rather glad I won't be held to account for that. Pity the poor sod who has to audit _that_ lot.” He sighed resignedly. "Not to mention making sure that people were... appropriately matched. God forbid that your meddling should end up leaving people regretting their actions."

“I am sorry, you know,” Crowley mumbled, picking up his own mug.

“And I'm really not angry. But I do think we need to look in to improving your self-control. That could have been a disaster!” Aziraphale lowered his hand to look imploringly at the sullen demon. “Will you at least tell me what all that was about?”

“Dunno,” Crowley shrugged one shoulder, “Just bored, I guess.”

“You've been bored before without causing half of Soho to spontaneously decide that their day would be improved by shagging the nearest available person!”

“Well I didn't _mean_ to! Just got a bit carried away, is all. You're so bloody difficult to pry out of a book, so I had to keep ramping it up until you worked out what was going on! It would have worked if _you_ hadn't been...”

“Oh no, you do _not_ get to turn this on me!” Aziraphale snapped, “I am _not_ the one who decided that the best way to get someone's attention is by blasting them with aphrodisia at close range!”

“All I'm saying is, it's not my fault!” Crowley sat back to spread his arms expansively. “If you had been paying attention, then I wouldn't have had to get so...”

“You could have just _asked_!” Aziraphale snatched up his mug again. “As is was, I simply didn't notice. You might have had more success had I not been reading something that was already turning my mind to... thoughts of a, ah, _carnal_ nature.”

“Ooh..” Crowley's mouth twitched into a grin. “Angel... you were reading _porn?_ ”

“Wh- n... It's not... ” Aziraphale attempted to hide his blushing face behind his tea. “The _Sonetti Lussuriosi_ is an important work of historical poetry, which..."

"Oh, that's Pietro's bit of filth, isn't it? Dirty bugger, he was," Crowley sniffed, "tried it on with me once, I told him to shove a fig in it."

"Gosh, yes, he _was_ persistent, wasn't he? Although I was terribly disappointed when the Vatican seized all of the... Oh, _anyway,_ " Aziraphale gave himself a little shake, "this is all besides the point! What I'm getting at is that you were _dangerously_ out of control."

"Urngh, yeah..." Crowley cringed. "Said I was sorry, didn't I?"

"Being sorry won't stop it from happening again." Aziraphale sipped his tea thoughtfully for a moment. "I think you need some lessons on how to better control yourself, and to protect others from the, ah, fall-out, as it were."

"Yeah?" Crowley quirked an eyebrow. "Got any ideas then?"

"Quite a few, actually," Aziraphale smiled. Crowley suppressed a shiver.


End file.
